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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28501608">Actions And Their Consequences</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Peredhel/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Peredhel'>Ravenclaw_Peredhel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ripples [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Again, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And he is getting it, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Emeldir, Beren Erchamion Bashing, But they just don't get kids, Curufin Has Daddy Issues, Developing Relationship, Dior has health problems okay, Dior loves dogs, Dior raises Elwing, F/M, Female Dior, Fingon is a pain in the ass, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Good Older Sibling Maedhros (Tolkien), Idk how Dior turned out so well, Is that weirder than Celegorm and Dior becoming best buds over dogs, Like on Dior's health, Luthien and Beren being dead for a while had lots of bad consequences, Luthien is dead, Lúthien Tinúviel Bashing, Maedhros and Dior bond over health problems, Maeglin deserves better, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Sibling Maedhros (Tolkien), Poor Maedhros, She probably hung out in the forest with Nellas, Thingol and Melian have problems raising kids, When she was well enough, Who doesn't really, relatively light, they're trying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:01:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28501608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Peredhel/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Peredhel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dior, the daughter of Beren and Luthien, is promised to Maedhros in reparation for their actions against the Princes of the Noldor. </p><p>Alternatively, in which the Noldor keep their tempers and use their heads for once in their immortal lives</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ambarussa &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Amras &amp; Amrod &amp; Caranthir &amp; Celegorm &amp; Curufin &amp; Fëanor &amp; Maedhros &amp; Maglor (Tolkien), Amras &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Amras | Ambarussa &amp; Dior Eluchíl, Caranthir | Morifinwë &amp; Dior Eluchíl, Caranthir | Morifinwë &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Celegorm | Turcafinwë &amp; Curufin | Curufinwë &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Celegorm | Turcafinwë &amp; Dior Eluchíl, Celegorm | Turcafinwë &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Curufin | Curufinwë &amp; Dior Eluchíl, Curufin | Curufinwë &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Dior Eluchíl/Maedhros | Maitimo, Elu Thingol &amp; Dior Eluchíl, Eluréd &amp; Elurín &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Eluréd &amp; Elurín &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Ereinion Gil-galad &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Dior Eluchíl, Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Maeglin | Lómion, Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Sons of Fëanor, Maglor | Makalaurë &amp; Dior Eluchíl, Maglor | Makalaurë &amp; Sons of Fëanor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ripples [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Upon The Nature Of A Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em><strong>Elu Thingol, Lord of the Thousand Caves and King of Doriath, High King of the Sindar, </strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>Greetings. </strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>In answer to your request for a treaty, as apology for your daughter's actions, we have taken much care and thought. Here, with the greatest respect for your autonomy as King of another people, we put forwards these terms:</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>1) Neither Lúthien, Princess of Doriath, Lady of Ladros, nor her husband Beren, Lord of Ladros may enter at any time a realm of the Noldor.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>2) N</strong></em>
  <em><strong>either Lúthien, Princess of Doriath, Lady of Ladros, nor her husband Beren Erchamion, Lord of Ladros may seek aid from any of the Noldor, nor invoke vows from said Noldor. They shall not attempt to contact them in any way. This is in recompense for their actions causing the death of Finrod Felagund the Beloved, Lord of Nargothrond.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>3) The newborn Dior, Princess of Doriath, Heiress of Ladros, shall upon coming of age wed the Head of a Royal House of the Noldor in order to heal the rift between the Noldor and the Sindar. Maedhros the Tall, Lord of Himring, Head of the House of Fëanor is at this time the only unwed Head of a Royal house of the Noldor, and is thus the only candidate for such a match. At such time as the Houses of Fingolfin or Finarfin change their Head, the match will be reconsidered.</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>4) When Dior Bereniel, Princess of Doriath, Heiress of Tol-Galen weds the Head of a Royal House, the Silmaril won from Morgoth and owed to the seven Sons of Fëanor shall be relinquished into their keeping. Namely, Maedhros the Tall, Lord of Himring, Head of the House of Fëanor, Maglor the Minstrel, Lord of Lothlann, Celegorm the Fair, Lord of Himlad, Caranthir the Dark, Lord of Thargelion, Curufin the Crafty, Lord of Aglon and Amras the Hunter, Lord of Estolad.</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>5) In the coming alliance against Morgoth, Doriath shall send no less than four thousand warriors to march against Angband.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>6) The ban upon the Noldorin language of Quenya shall be lifted.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>These terms we hope you will find acceptable.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>Fingon the Valiant, Lord of Hithlum, High King of the Noldor, Head of the House of Fingolfin</strong></em>
</p><p>*****************</p><p>
  <em>Eighteen years later...</em>
</p><p>"Mablung, how far is there left to go?"</p><p>"Not far my Lady, half an hour's ride, no more. Are you in a condition to continue, or would you prefer to rest for a while?"</p><p>"We can continue Mablung. I am quite alright, and only not complaining over your mother-henning because I heard Daerada and Daernana ordering you to take care of me.</p><p>"Very well." Dior shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, but quickly stopped when her cousin Oropher opened his mouth to call to Mablung for a halt.</p><p>"Shut up Oropher!" He rolled his eyes but subsided, hissing at her that if she arrived at Himring and collapsed like a swooning maiden, it would be her own silly fault.</p><p>The small company rode in silence for a while, glad to have been allowed to hasten ahead of the main body of Sindar nobles so as to arrive first. Dior enjoyed journeying, her weak health notwithstanding, but this particular journey was rather taxing for her, and so she was being hastened to Himring to rest. Finally, it came into sight, a great city of the Noldor, tall and fair, surrounded with high smooth walls and great gates. </p><p>Thankfully, Mablung knew the way through the maze of streets, and led them to the courtyard of the castle itself. Upon the steps, waited her husband-to-be. She considered him carefully, having never seen him before. </p><p>Maedhros was very tall, taller than Daerada, with a cascade of wine-red curls pinned back carelessly. He too was beautiful, though fine white lines marred the perfect symmetry of his features. As they were doubtlessly meant to. Stern grey eyes stared at her appraisingly, and she was suddenly a little afraid. He was a warrior in every sense of the word, and he felt deadly. Moreso than Mablung and Beleg, who always had a joke or a smile for her. Her soon-to-be husband was not smiling.</p><p>****************</p><p>His bride-to-be was barely eighteen, but according to the cool missive he had recieved from Doriath, she was quite certainly of age. Looking at her now, he did not doubt. Dior Rîswen, the Crown-Princess of Doriath was indisputably a woman physically. The almost gaunt frame of one recovering from an illness did not hide her wide hips and full breast, more like to a human woman than an elleth. No more did the dark circles beneath her eyes and hollow cheeks conceal the proud beauty of her face, with wide grey eyes and features as beautiful as her mother's were said to have been. Her hair was dark gold, nearly brown, a rich warm colour, bound tightly to the back of her head in a series of intricate knots and twists and braids. </p><p>She dismounted and came towards him steadily, though leaning on the arm of a youth about her own age, seemingly unafraid. ''Lord Maedhros.'</p><p>'Lady Dior." He replied gravely, bowing. His wife-to-be bowed her head gracefully. </p><p>"Forgive my lack of courtesy my Lord, but I fear I would fall if I attempted to curtesy at the moment."</p><p>"Oh? You are not injured my Lady?"</p><p>She smiled bitterly and he was surprised to see one so young bearing an expression he associated with himself. "No. But being born of a body that was dead for a significant stretch of time has surprisingly negative effects upon the infant in question." Ah. That would explain a lot. </p><p>"In which case, I do not doubt that you would appreciate being shown to your own chambers to rest."</p><p>"Thank you my Lord. You are most kind." He offered his handless arm to her and she took it without even blinking. It puzzled him for a moment, most at least hesitated, but then he realised that her father would have also lost a hand, and so she would be used to an arm that ended so abruptly. A grateful smile was directed up at him, and he smiled back, mentally awarding a point to the girl he would wed tomorrow. Dior was brave and bold no doubt about that, and probably as stubborn as every other member of her family. She would fit right in with his brothers. </p><p>It crossed his mind that it might be a little awkward for her and Celegorm - after all, there was the little fiasco of Lúthien's false acceptance of his suit. Never mind, he did not doubt that it would all work out - there were some advantages to being the oldest of his brothers after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rîswen in my frankly shit Sindarin is the closest I can get to 'Queenly Lady'. Which I think would be a good title for her. My opinion quite frankly does not matter.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Read and review 😁</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Marriage Of Convenience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dior was not weak. She should have died within the first few years of her life, so the healers told her parents, but she had lived and thrived. It was true that she was weak phyiscally, but the fire of life was hot within her, and she was bright and bold. This is not to say that she was not nervous. Dior was terrified. </p><p>Maedhros was well over two millennia old, a seasoned warrior, general and diplomat. Not to mention a Kinslayer. She on the other hand, had not even two decades, was weak and sickly, and her mother had played his second brother. </p><p>Not the best start to a marriage. Not at all. "Dior, calm down. You are starting to breathe too much again." Her grandmother's calm voice steadied her, and she relaxed a little. </p><p>"Daernana. I'm afraid." Melian smiled sadly and encircled her arms gently about her only grandchild. </p><p>"Ai penneth. It is not fair that your parents transgressions should have such great repurcussions upon you." If a few stray tears spotted Melian's dress, she would not tell. "I am so sorry granddaughter. If I could do anything to change this, I would. If you wish me to, I will send you back to Menegroth this very instant."</p><p>"No Daernana. I have to do this. It was a promise, and I do not mean to break my word."</p><p>Melian smiled, startled. "After all this time, you would think I would be less surprised. But I suppose that is the wonder of the Eruhíni, and the beauty of them. Ah. Can you hear the Song penneth? It has changed again." Dior listened, and indeed, the Music had changed once more. The Third Theme was stronger yet.</p><p>*****************</p><p>There were so many people there. Perhaps she should have expected it, but there sheer scale of the Noldor was staggering. They wore jewels as though they were flowers, flitting here and there like bright exotic birds. By contrast, the silvery-grey and pastels garb of the Sindar seemed drab and dull. </p><p>Now she understood why the jewellry sent from her husband-to-be's family was so elaborate - in Doriath it would be out of place and over the top, but here it would be just right. </p><p>She tried to spend the walk down the aisle thinking about anything but what she was walking to. There was High King Fingon, and his son Prince Ereinion. The dark ellon next to them - that was her cousin Lord Maeglin, or Lomion here she supposed, of Nan-Elmoth. They knew each other a little. </p><p>Uncle Círdan was there, his laugh-wrinkled face stern and unsmiling, which somehow gave her failing courage a bolster - surely it was not so cowardly to be afraid if Uncle Círdan was frowning. </p><p>Then Lord Maedhros came into view, and only her grip upon her Daerada's arm stopped her from picking up her skirts and running. Very fast. Preferably back to Menegroth, where she was safe within Daernana's protection and the thick stone walls. His face was black and angry, and he was glaring. Had she done something to anger him already? No, he was glaring at...the High King? His eyes landed on her, and he inclined his head gravely, his dark countenance lightening a little as he smiled at her. She managed to smile back it him, though it doubtlessly looked as though she were trying not to cry. Which she was, but that was neither here nor there. She was just so scared. </p><p>Then her eyes moved behind Lord Maedhros, and she barely managed to stop a strangled whimper of terror from crawling it's way up her throat. As it was, her eyes flashed white with the sudden surge of fear, and it took a great effort to return them to their customary grey. Five ellyn stood behind Lord Maedhros - three with dark hair, one with red, and one with silvery-gold hair who glared at her as though she had personally offended him. Lord Celegorm of Himlad, and her mother's jilted suitor. She supposed that maybe her existence offended him. Seeing the daughter of the woman you intended to wed wedding your elder brother would be difficult. </p><p>''Lady Dior." </p><p>She curtseyed this time in response to his courtly bow. "Lord Maedhros. I bring a Silmaril, the work of your father's hands, returned at long last to its rightful owners." She handed the glowing jewel to him with a good deal of well-hidden glee. Lúthien had been furious when forced to give it up.</p><p>And then, within half of an hour, she was married. Bound eternally to an elf she did not even know. She sat quietly by his side as the feast went on around them, rubbing the freezing band of shining gold around her finger. </p><p>"Dior. You've grown little cousin." She looked up startled at the unexpected, and rather welcome, voice, slipping easily into the sharp tongued battle of wits they often got into.</p><p>"Maeglin. I suppose it never occurred to you to visit."</p><p>"Well, I was going to, but then little Ereinion got an obsession with spears, and I decided that as the resident spear expert, I should remain."</p><p>"So, you really are a golodh now. How disappointed Lord Eöl must be."</p><p>"He's in the Halls, he can't do anything. And he can rot there as far as I'm concerned. As long as Amil is away from him I don't care."</p><p>''Wish Beren and Lúthien were there. At least they're far away here." She said, suddenly gloomy.</p><p>"Oh dear, what happened this time."</p><p>"I got badly ill last month, and Lúthien visited me. She said it was my own fault. And they wanted another child. She's pregnant now, I got the letter just before I left. A lovely little farewell to their sickly disappointment of a daughter."</p><p>''Oh my poor dear little cousin." And suddenly she was enfolded in her dark cousin's arms. ''Have you told anyone?"</p><p>"No. What's the point?  It's not going to change anything, only distress Daerada and Daernana."</p><p>"Oh Dior. You're well away from them now. In any case, you need to eat. You're thin as a rake. Come on, try that, it's remarkably nice for golodh cooking." And that was why Maeglin was one of her favourite cousins. Along with Uncle Celeborn and Oropher of courses. Her cousin's teasing distracted her from gloomy thoughts of her parents, and apprehensive thoughts of what lay ahead. </p><p>***************</p><p>Maedhros meant to speak to her. It was only, she was so young, and so different from him. What could they even speak about? So he spent the feast sitting in uncomfortable silence, despondently wondering if this was to be his married life. </p><p>Aredhel's Maeglin was speaking to her now, and he realised with a start that the two looked similar - just as did that boy who had come with her earlier - Oropher was it? He supposed that Eöl must have been related somehow. Maybe Elmo? That was the name of the King's brother wasn't it?</p><p>Fingon, the orchestrator of this farce, sat down next to him and engaged him in conversation. If hitting his highly aggravating little cousin who also happened to be his High King wouldn't have made a difficult diplomatic situation, Fingon would have been unconscious by now. Preferably on his way back to Hithlum slung over a horse. </p><p>Instead, he contented himself with glaring at his very annoying best friend and imagining it. Fingon just laughed. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Although literally nothing else of this story is according to the laws and customs of the Eldar, as written by tolkien himself, I am keeping that we don't know the words spoken during the ceremony bc I'm lazy like that. Also, with the feast and stuff. But not the jewels bc who the heck would be Mae's dad-figure?</p><p>In this, Eöl is also the son of Elmo. Which makes Maeglin and Dior second cousins. I think. Also yes, Elwing is going to be Beren and Luthien's second child here bc her spoilt attitude (at least how I see her) is very fitting for them. How it works in my brain, is that Lúthien was physically the equivalent of a 19-20 year old human when she became mortal, and Dior was born shortly after. Dior is now nineteen, so Lúthien is physically the equivalent to a late-thirties, early-forties human, so she's still able to have children. I don't think that she realises that having children so late is so dangerous, bc she is still mentally an elf.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Wedding Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the strange customs of the Golodhri-Noldor, Dior decided that the worst one for them to share with the Sindar was publically escorting newly weds to bed. It was a)humiliating and b) inappropriate in a normal marriage. She swallowed hard, and could not have been more grateful when the door of her dressing room finally shut and the footsteps of the drunken laughing crowd receded. </p><p>The Sindar maids who had come with her quickly stripped her, brushing out her long golden-brown hair and helping her don a long nightdress. Then they gently pushed her into the bedroom. The last contact that she had was a reassuring hand on her shoulder from her cousin Nimloth.</p><p>Lord Maedhros had been shoved in the opposite door, and she was suddenly very, very afraid. He was so tall and so big. Would he not crush her? She did not know, and was not keen to find out. Actually, she wasn't keen to be at all near her new husband. He took a step towards her, and she shrank towards the door, clutching her robe at the neck. Dior was terrified, she could not breathe, the world was spinning, it was black, where was she, someone was touching her, please please stop-</p><p>"Lady Dior. Can you hear me?" Where was she? She nodded. A sigh. "Very well. I am going to pick you up now. You fell on the floor, and I do not know whether you hurt your head. Do not panic. Breathe in and out, focus on your breathing." Arms came under her shoulders and her knees, lifting her easily. Dior did as the voice bid her, and slowly, the darkness began to recede. Softness beneath her, and warmth around her. "Can you open your eyes?" No...yes. She did, and was met with the sight of Lord Maedhros bending over her, a worried look on his face. Oh dear. Dior was suddenly very embarrassed. She had fainted, at only a step from him, like any silly swooning maiden in those stories Lúthien was so fond of. What a wonderful impression she must have made on such a stern warrior, fainting at nothing. </p><p>"I...I am sorry Lord Maedhros."</p><p>A slight lightening of his stern countenance, and he seemed suddenly much less imposing. "Call me Maedhros. Seeing as we are married, I think it would be acceptable."</p><p>"Of course,  Maedhros." She hesitated, feeling very awkward. "Then you must call me Dior." It seemed that he too felt the awkwardness of their situation, for he shifted slightly, and his eyes mysteriously had problems making contact with her own. </p><p>"Are you alright Dior?" </p><p>"I am fine. I am sorry for making such a scene, I am not sure what came over me."</p><p>"I think I do. And I apologise." She gaped at him, her jaw hanging open unattractively. A wry grin. "You are not even two decades old, and expected to bed me, a complete stranger with a reputation as an unhinged murderer. Anyone would be more than overwhelmed by such circumstances. And, your grandmother spoke to me." Ah. That would explain a lot. "I believe you had a...what do you call them, when you are short of breath. Asthma attack, brought on by stress, and the lack of air caused you to lose consciousness."</p><p>"And are you?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Going to...bed me." She flushed a brilliant, eather unattractive shade of red. She really hoped he wasn't - Lúthien had told her in great detail all about her first time, and taken a vicious pleasure in relating how quickly she had concieved - quite possibly the only time the petty woman had done anything even remotely resembling her parental duties. Considering that she too had the unfortunate strain of Maia blood, Dior did not doubt that she would be just as quick to concieve as Lúthien. And she was not physically able to carry a child, not yet - she was as tall as she was going to get, but as weak as her body was and as young as her fëa was, she did not doubt that bearing a child would at least severely injure her. If not kill her outright.</p><p>"No! You are yet a child - your body may be grown, but your fëa is not. Nor are you willing, and I...could not do such a thing." She looked up startled, to see a surprisingly gentle smile on his face, and his voice was soft. "You do not have to fear me. Now." And his tone was brisk again. "If you will pass me a pillow, I will be quite comfortable."</p><p>He was going to sleep on the rug. Dior was hard pressed to not to give voice to an unbelieving giggle. Eru, he was going to sleep on the rug! Her hand reached for a pillow, before hesitating. If she gave him the pillow, let him sleep on the rug...he had been kind to her so far. He had helped her when she had acted like a silly goose, and he did not seem to judge her for her weakness, not pity her. Indeed, he was kinder to her than her own people. For all he seemed stern and  intimidating, he was willing to sleep on the floor so that she would be more comfortable. </p><p>Dior knew something about relationships. If she let him sleep on the rug, let him give and give without giving in return, their relationship would not even approach the symbiotic one of a love-match. And she wanted to be, if not happy, at least content. It would not be so bad to try at least, surely. "Wait." He looked up from where he had been stoking the fire. "I would not drive you out of your bed." Dior stuttered a little, unable to find the words that she wanted. Thankfully, Maedhros seemed to understand. With another grave smile, he came and sat on the other side of the bed, pulling off his boots and taking off his outer tunic and robes. Dior considered it horribly unfair that the woman was stripped and put into defensless night-clothes, while the man got to continue to wear his armour like clothes. </p><p>He lay down quietly, and folded his hands behind his head. She noted that he was careful to give her space, remaining on one side of the bed, as far away from her as the frankly huge piece of furniture allowed. "Thank you Dior. You did not have to."</p><p>"Nor did you Maedhros." It was stiff and stilted, but oddly comforting. They did not know each other, but they were willing to try - to make their odd relationship work. </p><p>"I am going to kill Fingon."</p><p>"Pardon?" She wasn't even sure that she ahd heard him speak. Maedhros looked over at her with surprise.</p><p>"I did not realise you were still awake. My apologies." But Dior was always curious.</p><p>"Why do you want to kill the High King?" In a rush all of her fears came back. Was he really an unrepentant murderer? Was he only playing her so as to kill her later?"</p><p>"He didn't specify which race. Race of beings." Maedhros clarified at seeing her confused look. "He should have said, when you were a century old, or something reasonable. Frankly, he should not have asked for your marriage to anyone at all. I was horrified when he told me. Unfortunately, diplomacy is not my cousin's strong point. He is all about heroics, and love stories and glorious battles. To him, the idea of a marriage between two royals of the Noldor and the Sindar was the epitome of romantic - two estranged peoples, brought together by the bonds of marriage. Or some such rot. Fingon was never sensible, and he quite failed to recogise several important factors. And you, more than I, must suffer the consequences." Well. She had rather expected Maedhros to be withdrawn and taciturn, but obviously he was of different make to how she thought he was.</p><p>"I...I do not mind so much.'' And to her surprise, she found that she did not. "I have lived my whole life knowing that one day I would be sent to Himring as your bride. It...I never..." She trailed off, again unable to articulate. </p><p>"You never had a life of your own." Well, she wouldn't have put it like that, but basically yes. She had been raised to marry him. "I am truly sorry." </p><p>They did not speak after that, but lay in companiable silence as the red glow of the fire died down. And for the first time in her short life since her overly-romantic ideas at the age of five, Dior wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could be more than content here. If she could be...happy?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, totally cliché. I know. My bad. Sorry?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Of In-Laws And Hounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun was up, and it was shining very brightly. Why? It never shone in her face when she was in bed - only when she was on journeys outside of twilit Doriath. </p><p>"Dior? Are you awake?" She mumbled a sleepy assent. A chuckle, and a gentle shake of her shoulder. "Wake up." Why? What? She opened her eyes and woke up fully. "Good morning my Lady." Oh yes. She was in Himring, and it's Lord was her husband. Suddenly, she felt very very small and shy.</p><p>"Good morning my Lord." </p><p>He was already up and dressed, his stump concealed by a strange false hand made of what seemed to be mithril, and she could see it flex and move as though it were a real hand, if stiff. What marvels the Golodhrim...Noldor, call them Noldor, made. </p><p>Dressing was easy, though she spent the whole time excruciatingly aware that she had passed the night in the same bed as a man. That she had slept, quite happily, beside the Lord of Fëanor's House. The thought made her cold all over - perhaps he had been nice to her yesterday, but what about today, what about tomorr- No. That sort of thinking will not help. Dior slipped a long knife, a present from Daerada and Daernana, into a concealed pocket of her dress and smoothed the skirt. There. She was ready now. </p><p>Dior took her husband's proffered arm, and they walked slowly through the corridors to the hall.  "Are you well Dior?" She jumped a little. </p><p>"I...yes. And yourself?"</p><p>Awkward much? Apparently he thought the same. "Very well. My thanks." The doors loomed before them, and she clutched his arm suddenly. A small smile. "You have nothing to fear - they are my brothers." A host of protests rose to her lips, but she did not interrupt. "They will not harm you, I made them swear it." </p><p>************</p><p>They were glaring again. Celegorm and Curufin. Maglor and Amras were nice enough to her, in fact, Maglor seemed ecstatic to have someone else who sang in the family, and Amras seemed happy not to be the youngest anymore.  Caranthir merely glowered impartially at everyone, but Celegorm and Curufin seemed to consider her a blight on the face of Arda. </p><p>"Is there a problem, Tyelko, Curvo?" Maedhros' voice was calm and even, but there was an underlying current that said his brothers would be fools to cross him. Dior, who only last night had been terrified of him, found him rather more comforting this morning when faced with his glaring brothers. </p><p>"No problem Nelyo. Nothing at all." The words seemed to physically pain Curufin, and Celegorm did not even reply. Wonderful. This would be such fun. And she had been so loking forward to meeting a hunter who had ridden in Oromë's train. </p><p>"Then neither of you will mind greeting your law-sister as reasonable people do, will you?"</p><p>"Good morning, Lady Dior."</p><p>''Lady Dior." </p><p>Surprisingly, she felt like poking Maedhros. This was not helping. Wasn't he supposed to be a diplomat? Summoning a smile, she inclined her head to them. "The same to you my Lords." </p><p>Maedhros nodded sharply. "There. It is not so hard to be polite brothers. Now," seeing that she was finished, "if you will excuse us, I must show Dior Himring." Dior had never been so glad to leave anywhere before, even when she had to spend time with her poisonous parents. </p><p>He led her out, and she discovered with a large amount of surprise, that she found comfort in his prescence. Perhaps it was because he was so tall and imposing, and he was defending her against his rather terrifying brothers. "Thank you. I...thank you."</p><p>He smiled that grave, troubled smile again. "I apologise for Celegorm and Curufin. They can be...troublesome, particularly so since, well..."</p><p>"Since my mother played Celegorm and my father nearly killed Curufin you mean?" He sighed. "I know what they did Maedhros. Some may consider them heroes, but they left a trail of destruction in their wake, and they refuse to acknowledge the consequences that their actions can have upon others. They choose to blame those people instead." </p><p>They walked in silence for a time, before Maedhros remembered that he was showing his new wife around Himring. "Where would you like to see first?"</p><p>"Do you have kennels?"</p><p>"Well, yes. Not as fine as we would like, as we used to have, but we do have them."</p><p>"Will you show me?" </p><p>The kennels were, in fact, far finer than any she had ever seen. Huge, airy and filled with all kinds of dogs, yapping and yowling and carrying on. ''Oh, they're beautiful. What are they called?" They swarmed up around her, wagging their tails and barking, and she laughed, patting and scratching and giving her hand to sniff and generally getting acquainted with the pack. </p><p>Maedhros smiled a little. "I am not entirely sure of all of them myself. Morrigan, the kennel-master, could tell you better than I, but my own are Tollor, Glimben, Colchanar, Cemne, Pedor, Aßiel and Thurindes. Here,'' as they thundered towards him at the sound of their names, ''let me introduce you." Dior wrested herself from the other dogs, and was soon knee deep in her husband's hunting hounds. They were beautiful dogs, tall, clean-limbed and fast as the wind, as well as affectionate. </p><p>************</p><p>"Nelyo? What are you doing here?" Celegorm...oh this could go very badly. He looked away from the pile of hounds and half-elf to see his brother, dishevelled and stained as though he had been in the training yard. </p><p>"Introducing Dior to the hounds. Be nice." He saw when realisation hit, and the shutter that fell over his brother's face. Doubtless, Celegorm considered it a betrayal - Lúthien's daughter in his favourite place at Himring. "Come, you have not met Thurindes yet, have you?" Thurindes was yet a puppy, and quite arguably useless in the hunt, but adorable. </p><p>It seemed that Celegorm agreed, for he quite forgot who Dior was, and Maedhros leaned against the wall to watch the two converse quite amiably about hounds. Yes, it was going remarkably well. He restrained the urge to cackle rather well.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Reflections On A Brother's Wife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Random chapter from Celegorm's point of view, because he was very insistent that he wanted to have his own say. Not my fault.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Learning that the child of the woman he had lovd, for all that his love (lust) had turned to hate, was to marry his elder brother was like Nelyo had physically thrown his prosthetic hand at him. Because, for all that had happened, he could not help but think that in another, kinder, world, the child Fingon betrothed to Nelyo could have been his. </p><p>Eighteen years later, it was no easier. He stood behind his brother, as did the rest of his brothers, supporting the eldest in his marriage as they did in everything. Even if personally they did not really. </p><p>Looking at Dior was like someone had stabbed him. Because that was Lúthien's face, Lùthien's eerie beauty and grace of movement. But it was Beren's colouring overlaying it, save only her white skin, and the wrongness of their features made him feel ill. It was as though someone had coloured Lúthien in with the wrong colours, and it was wrong. </p><p>Then he looked again, and saw differences. This was not merely Lúthien with the colouring of Beren. Almost eerily beautiful that face might be, but it had a sort of noble pride that Lúthien, the treacherous bitch, did not. Her features were stronger than her mother's, her frame broader and more curvaceous. Long hair flowed freely down her back, and it was not the pin-straight river of Lúthien's midnight tresses, nor yet the wild, rumpled mass of Beren, for all that it held the same colour. It was the same gentle wave-like ripple that was so prominent among the Teleri. She must have seen them, because her eyes suddenly flashes a brilliant colourless white, and her hand tightened convulsively on Aran Thingol's arm. </p><p>There was something else about her, something strange...she seemed...diminshed in a way, not by fright or anything, but phyiscally. The girl seemed...weak. Vulnerable. From what he had heard, she was sickly. Often ill, and physically weak. Probably the fault of those idiot parents of hers, concieving a child barely a month after being dead for a considerable amount of time. Did they not realise the effects that that would have on a child? </p><p>He shook himself mentally. There was no room for pity for this girl. It would be easier if he pretended she didn't exist.</p><p>He didn't listen to the ceremony, and slipped away from the feast as soon as feasibly possible.</p><p>****************</p><p>The next morning, Maedhros entered the dining hall with the girl clinging apprehensively to his arm. She looked very small, though not alone, not with Maedhros' towering figure at her side. </p><p>Celegorm felt a stab of rage run through him at the thought that Lúthien's daughter would have bedded his brother last night. How long before this child did something as ill-thought out and as terribly far-reaching as her idiot parents? Because this time, it would be squarely on the House of Fëanor. He resolved to watch her very carefully. </p><p>Then Maglor greeted her with a bright smile, and she responded in kind, and Celegorm shuddered. It was that exact smile which Lúthien had used when she knew who he was. </p><p>He watched her carefully, all through the meal. The girl seemed innocent and quiet, as well as practical, but who knew if it was just a facade? It would not do to let his guard down.</p><p>Even if his brothers were. Maglor was being his usual charming, open self, Amras was rather enamoured of this beautiful younger sister, and Caranthir seemed to be warming to her. Only he and Curufin remained wary.</p><p>"Is there a problem, Tyelko, Curvo?" His brother's calm voice normally calmed him and reminded him to behave, but the iron undercurrent set his teeth on edge today. Why was Maedhros taking his child-bride's side? He did not even have to acknowledge the girl after last night, but instead led her into the hall on his arm, was gentle and kind with her, seemed to take offense at their natural wariness. It was infuriating. The girl had ruined everything from the moment that Fingon had written the treaty.</p><p>"No problem Nelyo. Nothing at all." Celegorm could not even force himself to reply. Curufin managed to, but he could not through the rage strangling him.</p><p>"Then neither of you will mind greeting your law-sister as reasonable people do, will you?" Law-sister? A veritable horde of vitriolic insults rose in his gorge. The child, the girl, Lúthien's daughter was not his law-sister. Would never be so. How could his brother behave so?</p><p>"Good morning, Lady Dior."</p><p>''Lady Dior." The words were stilted and choked, but if he tried any more he would start screaming at her, and Nelyo would not hesitate to knock him out and tie him up in the dungeons until he calmed down. </p><p> "The same to you my Lords." She smiled at them and nodded, the movements showing a jerky fear through the trained grace. Good. The child was afraid of him.</p><p>Maedhros nodded sharply. "There. It is not so hard to be polite brothers. Now, if you will excuse us, I must show Dior Himring." It was not so hard to be polite. Not at all. Not to a girl who was physically the image of the two brats who had fucked his life up so much. </p><p>Celegorm was hard pressed not to hiss imprecations beneath his breath as the two rose, and Maedhros offered the girl his arm to lead her out.</p><p>*****************</p><p>Celegorm spent a long time in the training yard, taking out his frustrations on the dummies. He feinted and slashed and stabbed, not stopping for who knows how long. By the time that he finally halted, exhausted and a good deal calmer, he became faintly aware of distant barking</p><p>Perhaps he should visit. How long had it been? Possibly since Huan...he veered sharply away from that train of thought. </p><p>The barking increased in volume as he approached, and he quickened his pace, before halting in shock. Maedhros stood in the centre of the courtyard that held the kennel. "Nelyo? What are you doing here?" Maedhros didn't normally stand in the middle of the courtyard watching...what?</p><p>A slightly guilty look passed over his eldest brother's face, and he looked back. Celegorm followed his gaze to see a furry mass of hounds, Maedhros' own pack, and...oh.</p><p>"Introducing Dior to the hounds. Be nice." Celegorm could not believe it. The girl hadn't even been there a day, and was already in his sanctuary. Lúthien's daughter, the living memory of his folly and his pain. "Come, you have not met Thurindes yet, have you?" Thurindes? Obviously not.  Drawn by his curiosity, before Celegorm knew it, he was in the middle of the pack and chatting quite happily to the child. She was quite knowledgeable about hounds, and he felt his animosity melting away. A little. Barely at all. </p><p>He knew that if he looked behind him, he would see Maedhros smirking.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Read and review 😁</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Of Complicated Relationships</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Dior had properly met Celegorm, she gradually became more comfortable in Himring. Curufin was still cold and spitefully resentful of her, and Caranthir was still distant, but her husband assure her that Caranthir had always been like that to everyone, and not to worry about Curufin who was just bitter because he had lost his wife in the Dagor Bragollach, and his son to Nargothrond. </p><p>Maglor was quiet and charming and genuinely nice to her. Amras was bright and merry, seemingly overjoyed to no longer be the youngest, and quite willing to get to know her. Celegorm was a hunter, a lover of animals, and both of them got along very well. They had initially bonded over hounds, but as they had discovered more and more of the same interests, in horses, in hounds, in plants, in rolling plains and wild races across them, for all that she had the strength to do such rarely, they had become firm friends. The love of horses and hunting, she found, extended to Amras, and whenever she was well enough, the three often could be found riding wild races.</p><p>But it was Maedhros who, for all that she got along well with his wildest brother, she liked best. He was kind to her, and he understood the frustration that came of having to remain behind because she physically could not mount her horse that day. When she woke shivering and freezing and crotchety from a cold, he made sure to keep the fire in their cavernous room roaring, and ordered the kitchens to make chicken broth for her, feeding it to her himself as gently as if she were made of glass. And she reciprocated. When he woke in the night, rigid with terror and remembered pain, it was she who would light the lamps and hold his one remaining hand until his eyes focused and he could breathe again.</p><p>Dior was happy, with the sort of quiet contentment that leaves you always wondering if you really are happy, or just resigned. </p><p>Then the letter came.</p><p>***********************</p><p>The great wooden doors of the keep were flung open with a bang, and three snow-covered laughing elves came in. </p><p>"I totally won, and you know it!" </p><p>"You did not! Stop being an ass Celegorm. Amras, back me up!"</p><p>"She's right Tyelko, I won." </p><p>"No you didn't!" The trio clattered up the stairs, bickering merrily as they went. When they reached the corridor that held the different bedchambers, they seperated off, waving exaggerated goodbyes. </p><p>Dior opened the door, and sighed to see Maedhros still diligently paring away the paperwork mountain he had been working on when she left. A pang of guilt went through her, for all that she had been there only seven months, Himring was as much her home as Menegroth, and she had waltzed off today leaving Maedhros with the lion's share of the work. "I'm sorry Maedhros."</p><p>He looked up, and gave her a grave smile. "It is fine Dior. You do not need to be cooped up in here forever, and you needed the fresh air today." Standing up, he pushed his chair back and cane over to her as she hung her cloak on a hook behind the door. "You didn't spend too long in the cold did you?" </p><p>"No I didn't, promise." Sometimes she felt more like his ward than his wife, which admittedly did fit their relationship in most ways. </p><p>"Good, you are barely recovered as it is. Come." He flung a warm robe over her shoulders and guided her to sit in one of the soft chairs by the fire, then gave her a pile of letters. "From Doriath, all for you my dear."</p><p>Dior eagerly ripped into the top one, her face aglow. "It's from Daernana and Daerada!'' She read it avidly, confused initially at its brevity. Then she read it again, her face paling. A third time, a sort of strangled sob escaping her lips. Then she slumped in a dead faint. Alarmed, Maedhros was only just in time to grab her before she slid off her chair and right into the fire. </p><p>He laid her on the bed and waited as her eyelids fluttered. "Maedhros?" Dior's eyes focused. She saw the question in his, and flinched away. "Read it. I...I don't think I can..." </p><p>And he did.</p><p>
  <em>Dior Riswen, Lady of Himring, Princess of Doriath, Heiress of Ladros</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dearest little one,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> We hope that you are happy in Himring, far away from our daughter and her husband, where you can be who you wish. As always, we are so dreadfully sorry that you must be the one to bear this punishment, and that you are so estranged from your parents.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And we are sorry to be the bearers of this news. Little one, you have a sister, named Elwing. And Luthien is dead. She died in childbirth, and Beren does not wish to see the babe. He is half mad with grief, and will in all likelihood soon follow Luthien to beyond Arda. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elwing is but a babe, and she is the image of Luthien. It is...painful to look on her, and we would not be able to give her the love that she needs. So we send her to you. Please Dior, raise your sister with the love that we cannot give her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She will hopefully arrive at Himring a week after our letter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With all of our love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Daerada and Daernana</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Lúthien...was dead. And her husband would probably follow her soon. He wasn't sure what to feel about it. They were pests, arrogant and petty certainly, but they were also his wife's parents, and though she resented them and had been belittled by them her whole life, she still had some kind of grim remnant of love for them. </p><p>Then it hit him...Elwing, Lúthien's other daughter...here, to Himring. Dior was nineteen, a child still, too young to be married, and he was old and tainted and a Kinslayer. Plus his five brothers. Dior was weak physically, and he mentally. Neither of them was fit to raise a child, nor entirely willing. Yet Thingol and Melian, who had raised the Tinuviel and all but raised her daughter, purely for the resemblance that the innocent babe had to her deceased mother, would not raise her, and were sending her to her sister and said sister's Kinslayer husband and brothers. Great. Wonderful. This was a Finno level disaster. </p><p>"Maedhros?" His young wife's voice was so quiet that he wasn't even entirely sure that he heard it. She was twisting her fingers together, warring emotions clearly visible within her.  "I...I don't know..." He knew the feeling all to well. Whether to rejoice at the death of one who had treated you ill, or to mourn the death of one who had given you life. She saw the understanding in his eyes, and grief won out as tears began to slip down her cheeks. Drawing Dior into a gentle embrace, he held her as the girl wept, and outside a storm raged.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am shit at writing relationships okay don't judge. </p><p>Read and review 😁</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Of Elwing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Thank you...I shouldn't have lost control like that though." Dior shifted a little, and he released her instantly. She wiped her eyes almost angrily. "I don't have time for this! Of they think they can just waltz into my life and ruin it yet again with their careless lack of thought, they've got another think coming." </p><p>She ranted for a while, clearly angry at herself for her reaction to the death of her mother. Wanting to deny that she felt any affection for the woman. Finally, she stopped and sniffed, wiping away the stubbornly welling tears with an irritated hand. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"Whatever for?" Maedhros sounded a little harsh he knew, but he dearly wanted to be out with a sword and some uncomplicated evil things to hit very hard, so he personally thought he was showing remarkable restraint. </p><p>"My family's problems barging in on your life again, what else.'' She laughed a little shakily. "You didn't ask for my parents to rampage through Noldorin lands, getting kings killed left right and centre, or to marry me, or to have my sister dumped on you or for any of this shit to happen."</p><p>"Neither did you. And unless I am very much mistaken, there is a baby coming to Himring within the week. Come." He held out his flesh and blood hand, and she looked at it a little bewildered. </p><p>"Where...why?'</p><p>"I think we have some of Tyelpë's things still in storage. Curvo's wife could never throw anything away you see and they always hoped for more children." He could see that she was quite off-balance from his easy acceptance of the situation but to be quite honest, he had missed children. Growing up in Valinor with at least two dozen younger relatives from his father's side alone had made it quite odd for there not to be children running here there and everywhere constantly. Perhaps the child of Beren and Luthien was not what he had had in mind, especially with Tyelko and Curvo to take into account, but he was quite looking forward to having a child in Himring. It would make it feel like a proper home. </p><p>Oh Eru. He would have to baby proof the fortress. The entire fortress. </p><p>He wondered if there were any trolls in the vicinity to hit with a very big sharp sword far more times then necessary. </p><p>************************</p><p>Dior's mind was a whirl. She was raging internally at her grandparents. If they could not raise Elwing, how could she, an eighteen year old sickly half-elf? Most elves at her age were still children themselves, certainly not eligible candidates for child rearing. </p><p>For that matter, she knew absolutely nothing about it. What if she dropped the baby or forgot to feed her or something. </p><p>All she knew was that once again, she was being saddled with the product of Beren and Lúthien's mistakes. </p><p>"Ah, there we go." Maedhros' calm voice interrupted her frantic mental monologue, and he opened a cupboard door to reveal nearly stacked rows of baby things. "Netye, Curvo's wife, always was very careful with how she stored things." Looking at the militaristically neat shelves, Dior was fairly certain that that was an understatement. Her late sister-in-law must have been an absolutely insane neat freak. </p><p>Not that she was not glad of it - the beautiful little baby clothes would work just as well for a girl as for a boy, and it was easy to see what there was to choose from. Highly convenient actually. </p><p>**********************</p><p>"Lúthien of Doriath is dead, in childbirth. Because of the child's resemblance to her mother, none of her family in Doriath are willing to raise her so she is being sent here. To be raised by her sister."</p><p>Celegorm looked quite poleaxed. "Nelyo...did you say...what I thought you said? She's...dead?" Maedhros nodded again as he sat down beside his young wife. His brother whistled and leaned back. "Unexpected much?"</p><p>"Nelyo, I am far more interested in Lúthien's last child's arrival here." He felt Dior tense at Curufin's voice, and he put his arm about her comfortingly. "You said she looks remarkably like her mother?" Celegorm jerked back up.  </p><p>"What!" </p><p>Curufin smirked at his brother. "That's what I heard Tyelko. 'Resemblance to her mother', I believe the exact term was." Celegorm stormed out. "Oh what is it now? Did I touch a nerve big brother?"</p><p>"Curufin! Enough." His brother snarled at him but obeyed him sulkily. </p><p>"Well I for one shall be glad to have a child in the fortress once again. It will make it feel like home." Maedhros could have kissed Maglor for his timely cheerful interjection. It broke the ice, and led Amras to add his own optimistic sentiments on the addition of a baby to the fortress. </p><p>Caranthir just shrugged and returned to his long sheet of accounts. He wasn't too fussed about anything. </p><p>Three out of five wasn't bad, Maedhros thought, and babies were adorable (until they were crying and colicky and sticky but they were all used to that) so maybe Celegorm and Curufin would be won over. </p><p>Hopefully. </p><p>He missed the days when he could just yell at them and go hunt some orcs, only now he couldn't because Dior was far too young to deal with him coming back covered in orc blood. Or better yet, the days when he could tell his mother and father and let them sort his fractious brothers out.</p><p>***********************</p><p> Dior stood with her husband on the front steps of the keep and watched the Sindarin train entering the courtyard. In the centre was a tall elf with white-blond hair and cool blue eyes who held a baby in his arms. Oropher. And her sister. A child her grandparents had said to be the image of her mother. </p><p>"Lord Oropher."</p><p>"Prince Maedhros. Princess Dior." A warm bundle was placed in her arms. "This is Princess Elwing, the second child of Princess Lúthien and Lord Beren." The baby was warm and still, asleep she thought. A single hand and the tip of a little nose were visible through the cocoon of silk and wool blankets. She swayed a little, and Maedhros was quick to take Elwing from her and support her as they led Oropher to an audience room. </p><p>A soft deep chair had been set there for her, and Maedhros helped her into it before returning the baby to her. She smiled gratefully up at him, well aware of Oropher's gaze. </p><p>"Ahem. Prince Maedhros. I was wondering if I could speak to my cousin for a moment. Alone?" </p><p>"Of course.'' He strode out and closed the door. Oropher quickly enfolded her in a warm embrace. </p><p>"Are you alright? You look thin. If you don't like it here, I have horses and supplies, we could be gone before anyone knew."</p><p>"I'm fine Oropher. Honestly." But she was touched by her cousin's care for her. He had always been the most aware of her limitations, and the most tireless in trying to find ways around them. "Maedhros is very kind to me, and his brothers are lovely. Except Curufin, but he's just bitter and twisted." Oropher let out a startled laugh. </p><p>"Good. I'm glad you're happy."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Read and review ☺<br/>Comment and kudos makes me very happy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Dior Is Eighteen, She's Too Young To Deal With This Shit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dior coughed again, muffling the sound with a hand clapped across her mouth as her body shook with the deep hacking spasms. One hand reached out blindly to steady her as her balance was thrown by the spasms racking her. "Dior? Manwë's balls!" Her hand was caught and familiar arms held her until the coughing fit had ceased. </p><p>"Thank you." She whispered when she could breathe again. Her husband looked at her worriedly, and she recognised that particular expression. Guilt. "It's alright honestly, you weren't to know." The cold had been contracted from one of his Edain liegemen and he felt horribly guilty about it, especially after her already winter-low immune system had seemingly given up without a fight. </p><p>"Come, you need to get inside. The cold is aggravating your lungs." She looked longingly at the rolling hills covered in shining white crystals but agreed. Elwing should be awake soon, and as much as Maedhros had been accommodating and helpful with her, it was still Dior who the baby had been sent to. And so it was Dior's duty to care for her little sister. </p><p>Maedhros was kind and soliciting of her frequent illnesses, but she was sick and tired of being ill, and being treated like she was made of glass. This was the least that she could do. And goodness knows her husband could use it. As much older than her as he was, he took on much more than he needed to, leaving her with far more free time than she had ever had, even in Doriath. She knew that he reigned in his bloodlust for her and that he was gentler than his habit was to be. And she was grateful, but also ashamed for her weakness. </p><p>Elwing was indeed awake, and crying. She seemed to cry most of the time, and her wails had quickly become an accepted background noise in their bedchamber. Unfased as ever, Maedhros placed the warmed bottle of milk on the little table beside her and sat down at his desk to get some paperwork out of the way. </p><p>**********************</p><p>Dior dreamt of vigils, of moles, of swans, of darkness, of a red glow and of screams and cackles. She woke in a flash, breathing hard with stinging lungs. That dream again. It had plagued her for weeks now. </p><p>The darkness surrounded and comforted her, seemingly enveloping her in a protective cocoon. It did not hold the same terror for her as it did for others. For was not the Void from whence they came also of darkness? And was not Arda in it's beginning darkness? For her, darkness was of beginnings - the blank canvas before the painter sets brush to it. </p><p>A muffled noise from beside and she turned her head towards the source of the sound. It came again and she sighed. Another memory dream. She lighted a candle to see by and started to sing, a simple ancient song going back to before the Sundering. Touching Maedhros was out of the question while he was like this, but the singing seemed to be calming him down. His eyes flickered as he woke, and he drew a huge breath in, and then another. Dior cautiously reached for his hand as she began another song, one that Maglor had taught. Grey eyes turned to her, wild and wary, almost bestial in their fear, until they focused, and Dior could see the moment he recognised her. "Dior?" His voice was quiet and low, still trembling a bit from his dream. She said nothing but smiled and continued to hold his hand and sing while the tension drained from him. The nightmares. She does not ask what is in them, does not want to know, for what she does know is that they are memories of Angband. Even after centuries, her husband was haunted by them almost nightly, and this seemed to be one of the worse nights. </p><p>"Are you alright?" She kept her voice soft and low, maintaining contact with his hand, little tricks she had learned to calm him over the last few months.  It was here, at night, that she paid the largest part of her private debt to him. When the night terrors came and he was breathless and wild with remembered fear and pain, it was times like these that she comforted him and drew his mind back into the right time and place. During the day, when the sun was high and others were there to see them, he hid it all behind a blank mask and calm voice. But here, in the darkness, alone in their large bed, it was she that he trusted enough to wake from a dream without hiding his terror. They may not be true husband and wife, but the last eight months have given them a bond all the same. Not a fëa-bond, but one as mortals made, of mutual comfort and understanding. </p><p>"I..." He hesitated, his breath still a little uneven. "Hannon le Dior." Dior only smiled again and waited for his breathing to slow and for his eyes to loose focus before she blew out the candle. Getting to sleep again would be harder for her, part-human as she is. </p><p>Just as she was becoming drowsy, a shrill cry began. Elwing was awake again and she reluctantly got out of her nice warm bed, picking up the baby from her crib and trying to shush her before Maedhros was woken up by her cries. Unfortunately, Elwing did not seem to appreciate her sister's efforts and only wailed harder. Dior did not have time for this. She was tired and her cold was still most definitely plaguing her and she doesn't know why her sister <em>won't stop crying</em>. Exasperated, she shifted the noisy baby to a firmer grip and left the bedchamber. </p><p>The corridors near the hall were empty, away from where anyone slept, and she walked up and down slowly, trying frantically to comfort the crying infant. It availed nothing, Elwing still wailed as if her tiny heart was breaking.</p><p>Dior sighed and held the baby to her. In the last month she had tried so hard to love her and care for her. But she was the image of their mother, and yet another reminder that once again, all of her parent's mistakes had come to rest upon her shoulders. First she had been born weak and ill, then she was raised to marry Maedhros for her entire life, then she married Maedhros, and now her sister had been sent to live with her and she had to care for a wriggling wailing infant not her own at the age of eighteen, eight months into an arranged marriage. Every day was a struggle for her, and she was so sick of it. </p><p>Soft footsteps sounded and she looked up, startled. Then fear took her. Curufin the Crafty came wandering into the empty corridor, clad still in his day clothes though it was closer to dawn than to dusk. He did not seem to have noticed her or Elwing, though how was a mystery with the volume of her sister's wails. When he did, she shuddered to think of what would happen. After all, when her parents still told her bedtime stories, one of their favourites had been of their adventures, and among them of Celegorm and Curufin and of how cruel and wicked they were and how lucky they had been to get away with their lives. She still partially believed the parts about Curufin, even when she knew that he would not have tried to cut off Beren's hands while telling him in great detail just what an insignificant mortal he was and just how he was going to die. For one thing, Celegorm had told her quite definitely that there had never been such a prolonged interaction between them. And Celegorm did not lie. </p><p>But all the same, Curufin resented her, and even more so now that Elwing was present, filling the halls with her cries and with her looks, even so young, still an exact replica of Lúthien's. Curufin wandered closer still, before halting in surprise at seeing them, the half-mortal girl and her crying sister, so alone in the corridor. He took a couple of steps forward and Dior shrank back. But he only took Elwing from her arms and rocked her a little, shushing her beneath his breath. Elwing looked at him in surprise, opening her mouth to wail again. Then, quite abruptly, closed her eyes and went to sleep. Curufin shoved her back at Dior and walked off, shaking his head a little. </p><p>Dior turned and ran. She was careful not to wake Elwing as she gently placed her in the crib and dived into bed. Even as she closed her eyes, she was asleep. </p><p>She would think the strange encounter with her spiteful brother-in-law over in the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please comment and kudos. 😌</p><p>Very much open to constructive criticism</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. In Which The Inevitable Happens</h2></a>
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    <p>When Dior woke up the next morning she still felt as horrible as she had the night before. But Elwing was gurgling rather than crying for once, and she could hear the crackling of the fire warming the bedchamber. She yawned and turned over, debating whether to keep her eyes shut and go back to sleep or to open them and start the day. The sun shone right into her eyes from her new position now however, so she groaned and sat up, feeling more than a little light-headed. </p><p>"Good morning Dior."</p><p>"Good morning Maedhros. Is Elwing alright?"</p><p>"Yes she is fine." </p><p>It was still so...odd waking up in the same room as a man, even more so with an infant in the same room. At least said infant was not crying as she usually was. </p><p>A shrill wail split the air and Dior was very close to screaming in frustration. She reminded herself that she loved her sister. Very much. It was not Elwing's fault that she looked like Lúthien. Nor was it Elwing's fault that none of their maternal family seemed capable of making good choices. Elwing was an adorable baby sister who she happened to be raising because apparently none of their family could handle a child who looked just like the dead Lúthien. </p><p>A child who was constantly screeching and screaming and squirming and Dior was so sick of it. She was eighteen! She was supposed to be a child still, running and playing and carefree and ignorant. But here she was, trapped in a fortress of thick grey stone, physically an adult, married and with a child to raise. It was as though Vairë wove her story with thorns rather than silken thread. </p><p>She got dressed and fed Elwing before heading down to breakfast. Maybe today she can finally go for a ride with Celegorm and Amras. Hopefully. Celegorm was speaking to her again, and had even managed to hold Elwing for a while the other day. </p><p>Maedhros held Elwing for the most of the way, for she seemed to like him better, which was a little offensive to Dior but also gave her a bit of a rest. Dior suspected that what fascinated the baby was the dark red hair - a bright and unusual enough colour to attract the capricious attention of an infant so young.</p><p>The private dining room of the family was as it always was, the others waiting for them and they sat in their accustomed places easily - Maedhros at the head, Dior at his left and Maglor at his right. Celegorm next to Dior, Caranthir next to Maglor, Curufin beyond Celegorm and Amras opposite him. </p><p>Maglor was smiling and talking, his words falling on the ear like the tolling of a bell, often a little disconcerting. It wasn't that she didn't like Maglor per se, but that his voice was such that in every syllable she could <em>hear</em> the potential for change. </p><p>"Why the long face Dior?" Celegorm poked her gently, jolting her out of her thoughts with a veiled tact few would have thought him capable of. </p><p>"Oh nothing. It's just...odd. How easy it was to get used to this, to all of you."</p><p>A sparkle of mischief appeared in her law-brother's eyes, but he contained himself and merely nodded, smiling to himself as they all busied themselves with breakfast.</p><p>*************</p><p>Maedhros was very worried about Dior. Her eyes were very bright and her cheeks flushed, and when he took her hand after breakfast was over, it was freezing, despite her uncomfortable expression clearly stating that she thought herself overheated. Even though she said she was fine, this was a human disease, and he knew very little about it. For all that he knew, she could be horribly ill and on the verge of death. It frustrated him just how little he knew of mortal disease. </p><p>And it scared him. She was so young and fragile, and what if she became lost to him. What if it was his fault? </p><p>They reached the great hall where audiences were held with those of the citizenry of Himring who held a complaint or a petition. "Are you able to do this today?"</p><p>Dior held her head proudly, despite her too-bright eyes and the deathly grip she held on his arm. "I am perfectly able to do this Maedhros, as I have done every month since I came to Himring." He inclined his head to her, acknowledging the veracity of her statement. </p><p>''Of course."</p><p>And, as always, it was a wasted morning of hearing petty complaints and arguments. Why in Arda did he do this again?</p><p>It was so irritating that he was actually glad to tackle the pile of paperwork on his desk when they returned to their chambers afterwards.</p><p>*****************</p><p>Paperwork was very, very boring, Dior decided. She didn't even know why half of this stuff was under her jurisdiction rather than Maedhros - surely supplying the fourth battalion with fresh spears came under military. It was all most confusing. </p><p>Oh...Elwing was crying again. It must be time to feed her. Come to think of it, it should he time for their lunch soon. She looked around but could not see the baby's bottle. "Maedhros."</p><p>"Hmmm." He didn't look up from whatever document he was reading through. </p><p>"Where did you put the bottle."</p><p>"On the mantle." Ah there it was. </p><p>When she stood she had to hold the back of her chair for a moment as darkness clouded her vision briefly. She started towards the mantle, and then tripped over her skirt hem partway there. Odd. She hadn't fallen like that in years, not since her tiresome lessons under Lúthien in walking like a lady. </p><p>There was an odd ringing in her ears. Wasn't she supposed to be doing something? Someone was calling her name, but she felt so very nice and warm, wrapped in comforting velvety blackness. </p><p>She didn't need to wake up yet. Instead, she burrowed further into the lovely heavy darkness. </p><p>*****************</p><p>Maedhros looked up at the sound of Dior's hand clutching the back of her chair. As he had suspected, her eyes were unfocused and she swayed a little before blinking. She had lost her vision briefly again. Not good at all. </p><p>He was already halfway to her when she sudenly stopped stock still and then fell. She did not move. An icy fear gripped his throat and propelled him to her. "Dior? Dior?" She didn't respond to his shake of her shoulders, or his voice.</p><p>Elwing chose that moment to escalate her wailing, and he twisted between the wailing infant and his unconscious wife uncertainly. Who needed him sooner? Then his logical mind clicked in. Dior was definitely very ill, and had not told him so. She was actually unconscious, whereas Elwing was merely hungry. </p><p>Gently he lifted her and then carried her to their bed, laying her on top of the covers. She looked very young and another pang went through him. What had she done to be punished so for her parents' deeds?</p><p>Then he strode out into the corridor and began to search for his brothers. But no one was there! Celegorm and Amras must have long gone hunting, and Maglor had been sent to meet the incoming patrol an hour ago. Caranthir could be anywhere, and Curufin was most likely in the forge. The passages near their rooms were all empty of other beings, and while he was typically grateful for the privacy, now he was fuming. Dior was unconscious and Elwing was screaming and it was all falling down in a heap around him. </p><p>He found no one, until after what felt like hours of searching, he heard footsteps and Curufin came into view. </p><p>************************</p><p>Curufin was in a hurry. A rider had just arrived saying that an embassy from Nargothrond was in sight, and he was hoping and wishing and dreading that one of them was his own son. </p><p>He looked up surprised at the sound of Maedhros' hurried footfalls and found that his arm was caught in his brother's iron grip. "Nelyo! What are you...what in Arda is going on?"</p><p>Maedhros did not reply beyond a curt injunction to hurry, but dragged him into his own chambers. Like a physical blow, the shrill wailing of an infant hit his sensitive ears and he hissed. </p><p>The girl lay on his brother's bed, her eyes closed and her face white. In a crib nearby lay Lúthien's second daughter, tiny fists waving furiously and little face screwed up tightly. Maedhros shoved a bottle at him. "You are a parent Curvo, you can help me feed Elwing at least."</p><p>"What?" Aid the spawn of the bitch who did that to his brother? "Are you mad Nelyo?" How could Maedhros even think of him doing such a thing. Then he saw his brother's face as he bent over the older girl to settle her into the bed. He knew that look. "Fine." Curufin bit out sharply. "But do not expect me to do more."</p><p>Maedhros merely looked at him before turning back to the elder girl. Sighing, Curufin picked up the baby and coaxed the milk into her. He was doing this for Nelyo, and for him alone. If he had his way, both of Lúthien's spawn would be well out of Himring by now. But Nelyo seemed to care for both of them, and though it beggared belief, he was still his eldest brother. </p><p>The baby spat some milk out with another wail and Curufin was tempted just to throw it out of the window or to storm out. What he did for his brother. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah...it was kinda obvious...sorry.</p><p> </p><p>I know it's shit but I'm very bad at writing stuff like this okay. </p><p> </p><p>Comment and kudos makes me much happiness ☺</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Division Of Blood</h2></a>
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    <p>Maedhros was not easily shaken. He lived through thirty years of torture in Angband, had six younger brothers, and had  fought in every single great battle since the rising of the moon. There was very little that could shift his calm facade. </p><p>Dior's collapse however, scared him. Mortal illnesses were strange to him, and their effects a mystery. Himring had no Edain healers, what need have they ever had of such. Now he regretted it. The nearest Edain settlement was a day's ride away. </p><p>"Nelyo. Nelyo. Nelyo. Answer me you bastard!" He looked up at Curufin's curse. "Thank you! Now, before you dragged me into the drama of Lúthien's spawn I was coming to tell you that an embassy from Nargothrond is approaching."</p><p>"You greet them. And don't call Dior and Elwing that. They can't help who their mother was." He wasn't exactly thinking straight and Curvo loved stepping into the shoes of the eldest and pretending to be their father, even now. Maedhros turned back to Dior, trying desperately to think of something that didn't involve riding for two days to get to the settlement and back. What had he been told about Edain illnesses? "And send someone to go to Bôr's people and ask for a healer."</p><p>Curufin swept out, doubtlessly in high dudgeon. He couldn't really care less, Curvo was always in a snitch about something nowadays.</p><p>***************</p><p>Curufin fumed as he left his brother's room. Ever since those two brats had come to Himring, nothing had been right. The elder seemed to have attached herself to Nelyo, smiling up at him and clutching his arm and fainting. If she wasn't with Nelyo, she was with Tyelko and Telvo, riding with them and chatting about horses and dogs. All the things he used to do with Tyelko, but which the brat seemed to have taken over. Even Kano chatted happily with her, and the one time that Curufin had sat down in Moryo's office to complain about everything, he had been thrown out when he started on the girl. And that wasn't even starting to touch on the squalling infant. It never stopped crying, and he could hear it almost constantly. Nelyo seemed enamoured by it, as were Kano and Telvo, spending hours rocking it and cooing at it. It made him sick. Even Moryo merely closed his door when the wailing became to loud, and Tyelko had smiled at the babe not a week gone. It was infuriating, these angel-face, manipulative, sly brats slinking into Himring and taking over. They may as well own it now. </p><p>He had walked into the elder just last night, trying frantically to hush the younger. In the moonlight, and with memories clouding his mind, he had mistaken the elder for his wife Netye. How often had he run into her hushing a wailing Tyelpë in his infant years? He had automatically taken and hushed the child, before realising that this wasn't his son, grown and estranged these many years. Which was another thing to resent <em>her</em> spawn for. After all, it was <em>her</em> fault that his son was gone. </p><p>The company rode into the courtyard just as he entered it, alongside Tyelko, Telvo, Kano and the patrol, and he scowled. He didn't want to deal with his brothers now. </p><p>Then the leader of the Nargothrondim, Gildor? Finderato's fosterling anyway, came forward and held a hand to aid an elderly Adaneth to dismount. She nodded to the elf and turned to greet Curufin, who felt sick upon seeing the woman's face. Because this human woman had the same colour hair as the elder spawn, if streaked with white, and the same nose, and the same strong brows. Could he never escape this insidious family? He turned on his heel and stormed off. Kano and Tyelko outranked him, they could deal with this. He needed his forge now. </p><p>In his aggravation, he decided to forget about sending the messenger to Bôr's folk. It wasn't like there would be much wrong with the fainting girl. She wasn't exactly known for her health, it was probably nothing, and he saw no need to trouble a respectable elf over her dramatics.</p><p>***************</p><p>"Nelyo? Where are you?" </p><p>Surely Curvo would have told his brothers where they were...</p><p>No matter. "In here Kano."</p><p>Maglor opened the door and came in, followed by Tyelko and Amras. "Nelyo? What are you doing in here? Surely..." He trailed off when he caught sight of Dior. "Sweet Eru, what happened!" </p><p>Maedhros frowned. "Did Curufin not tell you." </p><p>"Tell us what." Celegorm's sharp voice cut in. "Where's Dior, I took out Thurindes and I want to tell her about Thurindes' first...Dior!" Celegorm's swift stride quickly took him to his law-sister's side, where he turned his fierce gaze on his older brother. "Nelyo what happened."</p><p>"I don't know.'' He shrugged helplessly, feeling the ache in his throat because she was so young, so young, too young to die and he had no way of knowing what was wrong. If she died it would be his fault. "She was ill, and then she just collapsed.  I don't know anything Tyelko." Maedhros bowed his head, unable to meet his younger brother's eyes any longer.</p><p>A familiar hand, calloused at the fingertips rested on his shoulder and a familiar musical voice sounded in his ear. "Then it is well that we have a human here is it not?" His head jerked up as though it were one of his father's automatic puppets, and Kano wheeled just as abruptly, obviously leaving to collect the human woman and bring her here. </p><p>"What!"</p><p>******************</p><p>Emeldir the Man-Hearted was old. Soon, she had no doubt, she would be gone, away from the reach of the Dark Vala in his looming mountains, and away from the wars the Elves made on him. This was her last journey she knew in her aching bones, as surely as she knew her son's name. She had left the House of Bëor under a new leader, strong and wise, had come north to try to find news of her son before her death. </p><p>And her path had led here. Around the shadowy Girdle of Melian, and in the end to hidden Nargothrond, where a new king ruled in place of merry Nóm. Orodreth, his name was, and he said that it was her son who had killed Nóm. She would not believe it, could not believe it, but the elfking merely laughed mirthlessly and gave her an escort to Himring, the home of Maedhros the Tall. And home of his wife, Dior, her granddaughter if the tales could be believed. The daughter of her son, her Beren, and the daughter of Thingol Greycloak. Emeldir did not believe rumours, or so she told herself, but since the Dagor Meryatûr she had heard so many stories. Perhaps they were true. Perhaps her son was dead. And if they were true...</p><p>Now a tall elf with black hair and bright eyes was leading her at a fast pace towards...somewhere. He pushed open a door, and then paused briefly as his gaze fell on something before he recovered. "Nelyo, Lady Emeldir of the House of Bëor. Lady Emeldir, Lord Maedhros of Himring, Head of the House of Fëanor." </p><p>The tall elf who turned to greet her, without rising from his kneeling position, was quite possibly the most beautiful male she had ever seen. His face was white and drawn with worry, which was odd as she rarely saw elves with any expression other than serene peace. "Please." And his voice was pleading in a manner that Emeldir had never thought to hear from one of the proud Bright Elves. "My wife is...very sick. We know nothing about mortal illnesses, and..." He made a helpless gesture with his hands, his gaze darting towards a still figure lying in a large, soft bed.</p><p>Emeldir was about to reply that she knew nothing of elves, and as such could hardly aid an elven lady when her eye landed on the figure and gaped. She pinched herself. This was so surreal and nonsensical that she was certain she must be dreaming. The mind did wander as one aged she knew. Yet, the scene remained. The silver haired elf holding a dark-haired infant that wailed ceaselessly, the red headed elf who was perched on the window ledge, the dark elf with his bright eyes and the one handed elf, kneeling with his hand holding that of a girl with Emeldir's own gold-brown hair, and her features. She even had the same strong brows, strong, not delicate and curved, but thick and straight. </p><p>The tales were true then. Her son had broken his troth and wedded an elf-maid, even fathered a child on her, without ever even seeking her out. Beren, the son she had raised to be honourable and true, a breaker of faith and of trust. Rage swelled within her, because while they had been eking out a miserable existence in the south, he had been living as a prince in sheltered Doriath, without a thought in the world for his people. For the mother who bore him, and for the woman he had been betrothed to and who had waited for him these past forty-two years. She actually hated her son in that moment. </p><p>Emeldir took a deep breath. No matter the deeds of her son, this was her granddaughter lying so still before her. She moved forwards and then halted at her first true long look at the girl's face. Why, she couldn't even be a score of years yet. "I am no healer my Lord Maedhros, but it needs no healer to tell you that she is very ill." Her words seemed to fall on the elf like hammer blows. </p><p>"I hoped that I was just overreacting." His voice was very soft. "There is so little we know about mortal illnesses." The elf's piercing grey eyes suddenly pinned her with the desperate force of their gaze. "She...she isn't going to..."</p><p>Emeldir shrugged helplessly. "I am no healer master elf. I could not tell you that. For all I know she could be dying as we speak." The fact that it could be her granddaughter dying...</p><p>***************</p><p>Maedhros could hear the Woman's words going around and around his head as he fled the suddenly too-small room. Unwittinhly, his steps turned towards Curufin, towards the forge.</p><p>"Who did you send?" His baby brother jumped and then scowled. </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"For the healer. They had better have been a fast rider."</p><p>Curufin's hesitation spoke enough, and Maedhros took a deep breath, trying to control his fiery temper. "You didn't send anyone did you." Silence. "Did you?" Still, his brother did not answer. "Curufin. Answer me. Did you or did you not, purposely disobey my orders to send a messenger to the nearest Edain settlement to ask for a healer for my wife?"</p><p>The elf shrugged. "I didn't send a messenger. The girl probably isn't that sick, and you don't need to bother someone for all that when she's most likely just got a cold and is overplaying it. Happy now? Leave me alone, I'm busy."</p><p>Maedhros snapped. He grabbed his brother's collar and slammed him against the wall, ignoring his half-voiced protests about the projects mounted on the wall. "Listen well brother. Dior is my wife, not some nameless whore I took to my bed as you seem to think. She is young, and overwhelmed, and she is trying her best. It is not her fault who she was born to, nor is her fault that she got a baby dumped on her. Elwing is a child, she cannot control herself, as you well know! They did not ask for any of the things that happened to them to occur, and the least you can do is not actively sabotage them. Dior is my wife, and you begrudge her her lawful placeon my arm, and at my table, and in my bed. We are married in the eyes of Eru Illuvatar, and there is nothing that your petty actions can do to change that. So get over yourself! I asked you to send a messenger to Bôr's people, and you actively disobeyed me for a petty grudge. Do you even have a valid reason?"</p><p>Curufin wriggled and then spewed a stream of scorn at him. "Her mother was Lúthien of Doriath, and her father was Beren of Ladros. How can she not be trouble? You are blind, blind to the dangers. A viper sleeps in your bed, and eats at your table, and hangs on your arm all hours of the day, and you let another slither into our home with nary a word of complaint. Now another relative of theirs has arrived. How long until we house all of the House of Bëor here? That girl has you wrapped around her finger. She cares nothing for you, and mark my words, you will rue the day you let her into Himri-"</p><p>Maedhros punched him in the mouth. "Shut up." His voice was no longer the rasping shout of earlier, but deadly cold and hard. Curufin spat blood out of his mouth but kept quiet - Maedhros was most dangerous like this. He had never really hurt any of their allies in a mood like this, but there was always a first, and Curufin often prided himself in knowing just what to say to push people to the edge. The problem was, Maedhros had been pushed over the edge long ago, and he was overly stressed today - he felt the urge to kill far stronger than normal, and he could see the moment his brother realised. "Dior my lawfully wedded wife in case you forgot. She is as much part of Himring as I now, and she may have any of her family she wishes to visit her. It may intetest you to know that the Woman who came is her grandmother Emeldir. She tells me that my wife is very ill. Unless we have a mortal healer with experience in mortal illnesses soon, her condition could become even more critical. You see, my wife is part mortal, and mortals have this thing called stress, which weakens them. Dior has been under much stress lately, and it all came to a head today. If she does not get aid soon, she could die." He let go of his brother's collar and looked at him with steady eyes. "If my wife dies Curufin, I will hold you accountable." </p><p>Then he left before he would do something he regretted. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dagor Meryatûr - the Battle of Joyous Victory.<br/>Or as close as I can get to it, supposed to be the replacement for the Nirnaeth</p><p>Also, I'm shit at confrontations and arguments and stuff so sorry about that. </p><p>The extra drama with Beren's fianceé is the fault of my dear friend azulights who told me to always go with extra drama.<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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